


Met A Man As Clever As Me

by ActualHurry



Series: It Takes Two [2]
Category: Final Fantasy XIV
Genre: Alcohol, M/M, Patch 5.0: Shadowbringers Spoilers, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Undercover
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-10
Updated: 2019-11-10
Packaged: 2021-02-01 04:47:53
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,924
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21383464
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ActualHurry/pseuds/ActualHurry
Summary: Gaius and Estinien let it happen again, and this time, it's on the clock.(Light SHB spoilers.)
Relationships: Gaius van Baelsar/Estinien Wyrmblood
Series: It Takes Two [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1541542
Comments: 14
Kudos: 162





	Met A Man As Clever As Me

**Author's Note:**

> Warning for someone slapping somebody else's ass without consent; it is not portrayed in a positive light, and it is not forgiven, and it is not either of our main characters who do the act. I didn't want to slap a sexual assault warning on it for those reasons, but I still think it should be mentioned in case anyone doesn't wanna see that, period.
> 
> Pre-5.1 stuff here because I started writing this one right after finishing the first one. ENJOY

Tact is not in short supply amongst the Shadowhunter’s crew. Each of them have their strong suits, but being coyotes disguised as wolves means that they all practice subtlety for survival, not out of politeness. In their time as saboteurs and spies, they have made enemies, but they have made friends as well. Sympathizers. Gaius knows of one who has offered up his tavern to them, for sanctuary, for rest, for operations.

Tonight, they’re in need of intel. Tonight, they take their friend up on his offer.

The tavern is located on the outskirts of an Imperial city, already near the edge of what could truly be described as populated. However, a command base also happens to be over the hill, and there’s certainly nowhere else to go for a drink after a long day of work in the Garlean forces. The base itself is hardly a spot on the map, nothing like the bustling encampments that they’ve been quietly frequenting. Still, it will have its uses. When they’re tracking every instance of Black Rose that they can, even the smallest whisper counts.

They take their positions. Gaius remains at a barstool, with his hair mussed about and his eyes downcast, seeming to pay little mind to the ebb and flow of visitors. His borrowed top is a touch too small for him, the sleeves tight and restrictive around his upper arms. There’s little for it but to ignore the obvious mismatch and hope that anyone who looks twice assumes he’s narcissistic.

A couple of servers, and those manning the drinks, are also privy to Gaius’ plot. They are fellow conspirators, and each of them put on a smile and walk in way which hides the knives tucked beneath their clothes.

As for the Eorzean Dragoon accompanying them… 

Estinien brushes past tables, proficient and light-footed. He looks a sight in his open-collar shirt – it draws the eye down his throat, to his collarbone. His quicksilver hair is tied into a particularly messy bun, one that seems intentionally done with a practiced hand. Likely so, too; his hair covers the tips of his ears, and wayward, looping strands conceal his forehead. 

Gaius, distracted by the sight of Estinien's long, delicate nape, suddenly finds a full glass of spirits in front of him.

“You ask me, he's just as like to stab you as he is to look your way,” whispers the barmaid – one of Gaius' people, the very same who nearly lost her life at Estinien’s hand upon their first encounter.

Gaius takes a swig of the drink. _But isn't that the appeal?_ he thinks, dry even in his thoughts. He remains riveted on the way Estinien walks near on his toes, like at any moment he could bound away, untouchable.

Estinien has returned to a table three times, only to refill drinks. It’s a group of Imperial soldiers, riotous and loud over even the rest of the tavern. They’re too far gone to recognize Estinien, even with his striking appearance – though not too far gone, it seems, to see him for the attractive man that he is.

As Estinien places the brim-full drinks to the table and turns away, an Imperial Medicus reaches out and slaps him firmly on the backside. Then he laughs uproariously with the rest of his group.

He must laugh only because he can’t see Estinien’s face flash dark, or the burning wrath that flickers into life in his eyes. Gaius stills entirely, not sparing so much as a breath. Estinien’s hands tighten on his serving platter, and he shifts as if about to turn – 

“Oh no,” mutters the barmaid, going for her weapon.

Gaius snaps his arm out, flinging his mug of spirits off the counter and onto the floor with a fantastic shatter and splash. The drink was nearly gone anyway, but the noise stops Estinien short, all the tension in his sharp form going from murder to attentiveness. The rest of the tavern goes silent, all eyes on Gaius.

He stumbles out of his seat like a drunk. “Oh, hells,” he slurs, running a hand through his hair in feigned distress. “What a _waste_ –”

“I agree,” says Estinien flatly, having arrived next to him more quickly than even Gaius estimated. Even more quietly, Estinien hisses, “_Sit_ _down_.” 

The tavern returns to its normal volume, no one alert enough that they need to be entirely careful, but Gaius still sways back and forth in his seat despite it. He watches Estinien clean up the mess, then raises a fist in a wordless cheer as he fetches him another mug. He pounds it back for the facade’s sake and wipes his thumb over his lip to catch the excess.

Estinien stares at him, something behind his narrowed eyes that Gaius can’t quite place. It’s unsettling as well as intriguing. 

“Hm?” Gaius prompts. When an answer is not forthcoming, he adds, lower, “I won’t apologize for intervening.” 

Estinien’s unreadable stare turns into an icy glare, as cold as Ishgard itself. “Of course you wouldn’t.” 

It stings. Shared nationality does not mean he excuses behavior of his fellows, and for Estinien to think as much…but there’s no time for bickering. Gaius shakes his head. “Understand then that I wouldn’t have intervened if we were not in the middle of something grander than plucking a single bad apple.”

Estinien regards him with no remorse despite the pause. He turns to their barmaid friend, extending out his platter for more drinks to deliver. “So you say.” 

So he can’t convince him so easily. Gaius understands – what stock can one put in words? He shifts angles. “You picked up waiting well.”

Estinien snorts, turning his head to peer over his patrons. There’s some satisfaction there when his gaze falls on the medicus, passed out over the table, drooling. “It is not the first time I’ve taken it on.”

“Surely that is a jest.” 

Estinien smirks and walks away with his full platter before Gaius can press further.

It is a blessing that the rest of the night passes without another slip of judgment from any one of the Imperial soldiers. They do talk, though, _oh_, do they talk. Out of sight, Gaius knows each of his people are hiding in the back under the guise of retrieving food or drink, scribbling down notes and mentions and information. Drunks are noisy folk, and soldiers – though they should be – are no exception to the rule.

The night winds down. Estinien appears like a spirit next to him, without so much as a sound. 

“We have what we need,” Estinien murmurs, taking one…two…three of Gaius’ glasses, then adding, more sharply, “Feeling leisurely, were you?” 

Gaius doesn’t look at him. He can imagine Estinien’s wrinkled brow and curled lip perfectly well, which must say something about him…or about _them_. “All watered down, unpleasantly so. You think so little of me?”

“I rarely think of you at all.”

Gaius bites his tongue, yet can’t help the smallest upturn of his lips. “I would not dare seek to jeopardize an operation. I was a general once. The habits stick with you.”

Estinien exhales, then leans his weight in such a way that he's a little bit closer, the curve of his back against the counter that Gaius still faces. Gaius finds himself enraptured instantly by the wayward tendrils of white strands escaping his hair tie. “And I was the mightiest hero of Ishgard,” Estinien says, paying him no mind. “Yet here we both are, playing tavern folk for scraps in some man's glorified shack.”

“Careful,” Gaius says, lightly, “your cynicism is showing.”

“As well it should,” Estinien mutters. “There are a thousand and one ways to dismantle an empire. This would not have been my first choice.”

Gaius waves the barmaid over. She's quick to cross the space, glancing once to Estinien with barely noticeable nerves.

“Yessir?” she asks, kind all the same. 

“Your finest ale for this hard worker here, please,” Gaius says, smiling. It doesn't quite touch his eyes, yet the amusement in his gaze speaks for itself, doubly so as Estinien forces a breath out between his teeth. “My treat.”

Over his shoulder, Estinien adds, “If it's meant to be his treat, make it something stronger than ale.”

The barmaid blinks at Gaius until he shrugs, acquiescent, and then she runs off to fulfill the order.

At Gaius’ look, Estinien adds with a thin smirk, “It's been a long night.”

They watch as the tavern empties. Estinien downs his drink like a man parched, then offers the final sip out to Gaius.

“How gracious,” Gaius says, taking it. He polishes off the remainder of the glass, the spirits strong enough that he's taken aback. “You have... harsh tastes.”

“It warms the blood,” Estinien says, a flash of teeth giving away his vicious grin, fleeting as it is.

Gaius clears his burning throat. “I can only hope that it dulls your tongue.”

Estinien doesn't laugh, but Gaius thinks for a moment that he might. “It would take much more than one drink to do that.”

“Perhaps I should order another for you, then.” 

Finally, Estinien looks at him with something like consideration. Gaius meets his gaze expectantly. They wear the same question in their eyes, for the briefest second, neither daring press further, neither daring break the little battle of wills.

“Perhaps you should,” Estinien says, and that settles it.

The tavern is an inn, too; barely functional, truthfully, as there are precious few travelers that cross through this land, but there are rooms with the utmost basics within them. In one such room, all of their armor and weapons are stashed, waiting to be snatched up once more. In another, Gaius shuts the door as Estinien enters with him, the lock clicking into place behind them.

It’s a humble space. There is a bed hardly sizable enough for two with thin sheets atop it. The room stays dimly lit, even when Gaius turns the lamp alight. Estinien carries the bottle they’d chosen by the neck, as if ready to either drain it or shift the grip and make it into a club.

“You said we have what we need,” Gaius begins, turning to face him once more. Estinien looks at him, something odd to the tilt of his chin. “Well? What was it?” 

Estinien regards him a moment longer, opening the bottle. “Do you mistake me for a fool?” 

“...Not once have I thought of you as such.” 

“Do you think I am naive?” 

Gaius looks him over. “If you wish to speak, speak plainly. The night has been long enough already.” 

“You’ve bought me spirits and led me to an empty tavern room. Now you expect us to discuss _business_?” Estinien shakes his head, the motion adding more strands of hair to those which have already fallen from the tie. “I believe _you _must be the fool.” 

Gaius barely staves off a smile, approaching him. “Must I apologize for attempting manners? Would you have preferred I pull you into the room and strip you naked without so much as a word?” 

Estinien brings the bottle to his lips and takes a long drink from it, still watching Gaius throughout. Gaius can’t decide whether to meet his eyes or admire the delightful swallowing motion of his throat. Once satisfied, Estinien offers the bottle out to him. “Yes, in fact,” he says, remarkably mild for the sharp smirk on his face. 

“Allow me to waste no further time, then,” Gaius says, taking the bottle from him only to set it on the table next to the bed. He has better things to occupy his hands with, and more enticing ways to taste the liquor in that bottle. 

Estinien catches him by the shoulder and reels him in, Gaius leaning into his space without so much as a question. The kiss they share is less of a kiss and more a show of impatience between the both of them; it quickly turns to teeth and muttered swears as they begin to work off each other’s clothes, but Gaius is given an opportunity to demand a better kiss when Estinien glances down to examine the knotted laces of Gaius’ pants.

He slides his palm around to cup the nape of Estinien’s neck, pulling him back in for another meeting of their lips, and Estinien’s surprisingly soft noise into it is enough to goad him onward. He kisses him with such fervor that to stay balanced, Estinien soon grips him by the waist, possibly hard enough to bruise, though certainly hard enough that Gaius feels heat flare in his gut with unmistakable need. 

Gaius steals another opportunity – he reaches the slightest bit higher to pull the tie from Estinien’s hair, feeling more than seeing his hair fall long and loose. The hair tie he drops onto the floor, willing to forget it.

“Such intent,” Estinien manages to mutter against his mouth. “Don’t tell me you’ve been ruminating on that all night.” He pulls Gaius flush to him, walking backwards to lead him along.

“Only half the night,” Gaius allows, following as if he’s been leashed, slipping off his boots as he goes.

Estinien’s back hits the wall – they didn’t have far to go, anyway – and Gaius catches the tail end of a smirk from him before their lips are together once more. Between one biting kiss and another, Estinien shoves Gaius’ pants off, and Gaius pushes up Estinien’s shirt to clutch at his body, his sides, digging eager fingers into his hips. They move against one another like they can’t hardly stand to wait, and if Estinien wasn’t panting against his mouth, urging him faster, Gaius would have had the decency to be embarrassed by his own enthusiasm. 

They both want in equal, frustrating, shameless amounts, but only one of them thought to bring – 

“Oil,” Estinien says suddenly, gasping like he’s come up for air. 

Gaius glances up from where he’s kneeling, one arm hooked beneath Estinien’s knee to lift his leg out of his remaining undergarments. “Ah, yes,” he says, repeating the action to free Estinien from his clothes completely, busying himself with kissing along his thighs – those very, _very _impressive thighs. “Oil,” he murmurs, touching Estinien with purposeful distraction. 

Estinien makes a small, angry noise. “_Oil_,” he insists. “Tell me you were optimistic enough to carry a supply on your person.” 

Gaius rubs his stubbled cheek against Estinien’s hip. “And if I was?” 

Estinien suddenly curls fingers into a fist in Gaius’ hair, pulling his head back so he has no choice but to look up at him. Gaius blinks once, glad that the position hides the growing flush on the back of his neck. 

“You, having _manners_,” Estinien says like a swear, an echo of Gaius’ words before. Estinien tugs on his hair to bid him stand, so Gaius does, with an inhale to prepare himself for the ache in his knees. “I like you better brazen, Black Wolf.”

There’s a smile there, despite Estinien’s mild tone. Gaius feels terribly satisfied by it, even more so when Estinien pets lightly at his hair before dropping his hand.

“Careful,” Gaius replies, quickly dipping downwards once more to dig into his fallen pants for the little vial of oil. “The Black Wolf would not have gone to such desperate lengths as these.” 

Estinien’s hawkish eyes glitter in the dim light of the room. “Wouldn’t he have?”

Gaius opens the bottle, glancing over Estinien’s lithe, bare form in full. Maybe, he thinks. But more likely, they would have crossed blade and lance in a more literal fashion. 

It’s quick and it’s dirty when they come back together. Estinien, instead of allowing himself to be pulled to the bed, keeps Gaius crowded against him. He uses the wall to balance – as if he needs it. Gaius has seen him tiptoe across razor thin surfaces without so much as flinching. Estinien could likely keep them _both _steady if necessary. 

Yet there’s something intoxicatingly good about Estinien’s back against the wall, his lips parted as he leans his head into it and savors Gaius’ fingers working him open. Gaius would be in no rush, already wanting to prolong this — but he has his own impatient want obvious between his legs, and so he fingers Estinien like he might as well be taking him already. Estinien is not inclined to make a sound, not even when Gaius adds a second finger and then splays them. Certainly, it makes him shudder, but it does not otherwise elicit a noise out of the Dragoon. 

Gaius presses him further into the wall, keeping his fingers moving inside of him as he does. Their noses brush together as Gaius leans forward the tiniest bit more, Estinien’s lashes falling shut as he looks down at him. Estinien drops his hand to slide a roaming touch over Gaius’ broad shoulders.

“Keep going,” Estinien bids him, and when he kisses Gaius again, the Ishgardian nearly bites his lip bloody.

Gaius responds by curling his fingers inside of him, merciless in the motions, and Estinien digs into the back of his shoulders like he could flay him apart. It’s only when Estinien’s leg, curled around Gaius’ hip, tightens enough that Gaius is sure Estinien might very well throw him to the floor and hurry things onward himself, that Gaius abandons his hand’s machinations and slicks up his cock instead. 

Estinien’s groan is less pleasure than it is relief. Gaius feels ambitious, feels aflame, and gets a grip on Estinien’s ass to hoist him upwards, enough that Estinien can get both his thighs around him and hold on. The answering gleam in Estinien’s eye is reward enough, though a better reward is the heat as Gaius presses his cock inside of him. Estinien leans fully back against the wall, his lips parted, his face flushed.

Once fully seated inside of him, Gaius drops his forehead against Estinien’s shoulder, panting. The momentary pause has no chance of lasting. The air is too thick and heady between them, their selfish desires obvious in every aspect of their positions – in the way that Estinien links his ankles behind him and digs his heels into the small of Gaius’ back, in the way that Gaius holds Estinien against himself.

“What are you waiting for?” Estinien speaks at his ear, both a whisper and a growl, and Gaius obliges.

Gaius pulls his hips back to slam them forward, shoving Estinien into the wall from which he’d slipped a little lower, and then does it again, and again, and again – until Estinien’s tight, sharp breaths sound punched out of him, until Gaius’ own trembling legs beg more and more. Estinien grapples at his back so aggressively that Gaius feels his skin sting with the drag of nails, Estinien’s knees holding tight at Gaius’ hips as if _he’s _the one doing most of the work.

He’s not. But he might as well be, the way he grinds his body against Gaius with every motion. The friction must be a delight, because Estinien doesn’t even bother attempting to squirm a hand between them for himself, no, as much as Gaius would like to see it. Instead, his wetness smears against Gaius’ abdomen with each thrust.

It makes up for whatever Gaius is losing by not seeing Estinien fall apart; he feels it well enough, and when Estinien’s hands grip him even tighter, when his knees dig into his hips hard enough that Gaius know he might very well be sore after the fact, Estinien spilling between them doesn’t surprise him in the least. The careless sound he makes _does_, and that’s what pushes Gaius over the edge. He’s just barely able to fuck him through it and then, gasping twice, finishes himself with a long, drawn-out shiver.

The world comes into focus again slowly. Gaius feels Estinien’s fingers slowly gentle out against his back. The wet heat of his pleasure drips from the head of his cock as he pulls out with care, glancing down — Estinien’s mess is sticky across his stomach like an abstract. Gaius might have had the foresight to bring along the oil, but he had spared no such thoughts about towels of any kind.

Their breaths are a mismatched staccato, yet they both manage to get themselves under control by the time Estinien allows himself to slide down from Gaius’ hold, standing unsteadily. Gaius keeps his hand braced against the wall, not yet trusting his own legs. 

“That…” Estinien tries, then his voice fades out and his nose crinkles funny – not in a sneer, but in true consideration. “…Hm.” 

Gaius stands up straight, hand falling from the wall. He pats Estinien’s shoulder. “Thank you,” he says primly, which throws Estinien into surprised laughter. 

They dress, but not before Gaius offers up the too-tight borrowed shirt of his as sacrifice for the proof of their enjoyment still coating Estinien’s stomach. Estinien seems hesitant to ruin it for all of a moment until he runs his eyes over Gaius’ form one final time. Gaius, skin prickling with awareness, decides to be flattered as he pulls his pants on again.

“Our next move from here should be planned carefully,” he muses aloud, lacing his boots. Estinien’s attention on him is like a weight pinning him down, and Gaius eventually glances up to meet his gaze.

Estinien picks him apart slowly with nothing more than his narrow-eyed stare. “Yes.” 

It’s not the tactical enthusiasm he was hoping for from his ally. Gaius supposes it leaves something to be desired as far as pillow talk goes, but also supposes it was an apparent mistake to assume that he could brush over things. He bites his tongue, then says, offering out an olive branch of sorts, “We must take care not to endanger our generous hosts. However…” 

“‘However’,” Estinien repeats, plucking his hair tie from the floor.

“_However_,” Gaius goes on, no longer looking his way. “Regarding another matter…that medicus is from a prominent century at the nearby base. I could even go so far as to identify his commanding officer simply by glancing upon him.” 

In the corner of his eye, he sees Estinien pause.

“Is that so, Shadowhunter?” Estinien says slowly.

“If all of this identifying information somehow ends up on a slip of paper that inexplicably finds its way into your pants’ pocket…” Gaius continues, standing up with care. His knees protest at the abuse. “I presume that would be most convenient, would it not?” 

Estinien tilts his head, canting his chin a little higher as he considers. Gaius, unabashed now, admires his undone appearance. They’re both fully dressed again, and yet it feels as if they’ll each walk out of the door and everyone will know in an instant what they’ve been busying themselves with. Not that it matters, but Gaius likes to keep some measure of _untouchable _to his role as leader to this merry band of dissidents.

“You have satisfied me in more than one way tonight, my friend,” Estinien says. His smile is small and not exactly rueful — but there is an acknowledgment there at what it must have taken Gaius to admit such. 

Gaius rolls his shoulders, choosing to hold his tongue. Estinien hums once and then straightens his shirt. He leaves soon after, and Gaius watches him go. Should he hear anything unbecoming of his ally, he will plead ignorance.

Later, Estinien would leave a nice bottle of unopened spirits in Gaius’ possession, and say not a word about it.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading.


End file.
